


Betrayer?

by CuddlerOfDragons



Series: Deserving Of Hell? [6]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:14:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21696481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuddlerOfDragons/pseuds/CuddlerOfDragons
Summary: Last in this little series.  Not as canon friendly as the others.  Please don't hate me.
Series: Deserving Of Hell? [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1497629
Comments: 16
Kudos: 69





	Betrayer?

As always, _her_ safety is Lucifer’s priority.

“Don’t drink the wine,” He gasps, pain burning his insides. “Someone’s poisoned it.” He chokes out, falling sideways onto the floor, convulsing.

She watches him - almost paralysed with the fear that has been building, steadily, since she had been given the vial - and wonders if he’s still dangerous, wonders if he will turn into something _other_ , again; feeling a tinge of relief when he doesn’t.

His eyes meet hers, distorted through the transparent surface of the table.

Confusion and betrayal.

His nose is bleeding, now and she flashes back to when _she_ had been poisoned and he had seemed so desperate to save her…

“Chloe?” He coughs on the word, a horrid, _wet_ sound, blood spilling from his mouth.

Still sitting, she scoots away across the floor, grateful that the table is between them; her frantic hyperventilating almost covers his sickening gurgling noises as she fumbles for her phone and the text that will bring Kinley. When she presses send and looks up, Lucifer is quiet and still. She has seen enough dead bodies, in her time, been to enough crime scenes…

She’s at a crime scene, now. The thought is an unpleasant jolt to her heart.

What has she _done?_

Murdered.

The word ricochets around in her consciousness.

Lucifer.

Murdered.

By _her_.

Guilty.

His penthouse suddenly feels _wrong_ , too quiet and somehow _hostile_ \- worse than when sheets covered everything - as if the only thing that made it warm and welcoming and _light_ , was _his_ presence.

The elevator pings.

“My dear girl, God will bless you for this.” Kinley sounds calm and slightly smug.

“A sedative, you said.” She looks up at him, accusingly.

“Something to subdue him, is what I said; it takes something _strong_. Now, _I_ need to perform a ritual, to ensure he cannot return. You _certainly_ wouldn’t want him to return.” He looks at her, knowingly. “The Lord of Hell, the _Beast_ …” She flinches, remembering how Lucifer had looked, standing over Pierce’s corpse - shocking but almost harmless, compared to the pictures that _Kinley_ had shown her. “Returning to Earth with vengeance in his black heart…”

“Can I go?” She scrambles to her feet, aching to leave this place and never look back.

“Of course, my dear.” And, as she steps into the elevator, he adds… “Don’t do anything stupid.”

***

What follows is inevitable.

Breaking the news of the death of a loved one is never easy but Dan and Ella are _especially_ nervous about telling her and when they _do,_ her acting skills are stretched to the max. Is this how it is for _suspects?_ Trying to act surprised, shocked, grief-stricken, _innocent;_ knowing, all the while, that _they_ are _responsible_. Knowing that, if caught out, they stand to lose _everything_ they value.

She has so _much_ to lose, so she pretends; endures their misplaced sympathy. A precinct of grieving colleagues, all believing that _she_ has it worse because she loved him the most.

Ella, of course, does her job _spectacularly_ well but, even if she hadn‘t... Kinley had left no trace. Of himself. The scene is exactly as Chloe had left it. Food, wine, empty poison vial, her fingerprints, her DNA; Lucifer. Why had Chloe thought that his corpse would vanish to Hell?

Stupid.

His time of death is fixed, conclusively, by his broken phone.

_Her_ phone records place Chloe at the scene - texting to a burner phone elsewhere in the building and _not_ calling 911. CCTV places her at the scene; footage of Kinley is inconclusive, for identification purposes but places him _and_ her at the scene, _at the same time_. She _had_ to have known that Lucifer was dead but she had gone back to work, as though nothing had happened, leaving a traumatised Brittany to call it in, hours later.

The priest had somehow vanished from the U.S., as if he had never existed. Chloe understands that she’s been used.

The floral tributes pile up at Lux and a hate campaign begins. So _many_ people loved him, it seems; partly because of the sex but primarily because of his _music -_ an incredible talent, selfishly, _needlessly_ snuffed out.

After Chloe’s arrest, they drag up Palmetto again _and_ Pierce. She has ‘ _previous‘_ for dead colleagues _,_ it’s only natural that they would take another look.

The media pounces and speculates. Had she been sexually obsessed with Malcolm, the way she must have been with Pierce and Lucifer? Did Malcolm reject her, too? Was death the _price_ for that? Then it emerges that _she_ is the primary beneficiary in Lucifer’s will…

They start calling her The Black Widow.

Digitally re-mastered and re-released on a tide of morbid curiosity, sales of ‘Hot Tub High School‘ rocket; fuelled by interviews with various - publicity hungry - cast members who, gleefully, offer up lurid descriptions of alleged sex acts, performed, by Chloe, behind the scenes. These tales all add to the frisson; lies, of course but eagerly lapped up by a public who would happily see her _literally_ crucifiedfor what she has done.

Doubt.

Alone in her tiny cell, sleepless, dwelling on _lies_. Lies about _her_ , lies believed by people who don’t know her. Lies about Lucifer?

_Had_ he been evil?

She had never thought so, before she had _seen_. Before Kinley had _explained_.

The _public_ hatred comes like a tsunami but is easy for her to ignore; not so the visits from people she _loves_...

Dan: “Why Chlo, just _why?_ I admit I’m the last person to stick up for Lucifer but…” He shakes his head in ongoing disbelief. “I’d have bet my _life_ that you would _never_ … Poison, Chlo? Really? After what _you_ went through; after _he_ fought so _hard_ for the antidote to _save_ you? All that _blood_ … the guy bled to death inside, _drowned_ in it… why _would_ you?”

“It was all true.” She whispers but he doesn‘t understand what she‘s telling him.

Ella: “The dude _loved_ you, so _much_. I can’t… I don’t think I’ll _ever_ …” She scrubs the tears from her face and takes a calming breath. “I loved him like a brother and I pray for his soul but I’m sorry, I can’t pray for yours.” Her voice is steadier and she gets up, to leave.

“It wouldn’t help, if you did.” Chloe murmurs, feeling too _worthless_ to look her once-friend in the eyes.

Her mother: “Your father would be _so_ ashamed, I’m glad he’s not here to see it.”

Trixie: “You can’t force me to visit you.” Chloe flinches, her monkey sounds so grown up and assertive. “I only came this once, to tell you that I hate you.” Her voice doesn’t waver but she‘s blinking rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “After _you_ ,” She speaks the pronoun as though it sickens her. “Lucifer left _me_ all his money and stuff and Dad moved back in but I’d still rather have Lucifer _alive_ because I love him and he loved _us._ That’s all.” Then her beloved child, the person she loves most in all the world, stands up and spits in her face. Then she turns and stalks out, while Chloe watches, horrified at the last ever view of her daughter and feeling saliva trickling down her cheek.

No more visits, then.

She pleads guilty to murdering Lucifer and _not_ guilty to Pierce and Malcolm but she’s _convicted_ of all three. She doesn’t even _try_ to explain. She’s looking at a death sentence - public feeling insists on it - and she _deserves_ it; after all, when someone in a position of trust goes _so_ bad, the penalties _should_ be higher.

She starts the years of waiting to be judicially murdered. Time to think is the most painful punishment. Replaying her memories.

‘ _Detective…. Chloe_ , _I **am** the devil.’ _Lucifer had said and she… _she_ had replied: _‘No, you’re not. Not to me.’_

Then she had _seen_ and had failed him _so_ badly.

When she _can_ sleep, in this friendless, twilight existence, she has _dreams_ \- the kind that mess with her head. She clings to them and wishes, _so_ fervently, that they were true.

She dreams that she _didn’t_ put the poison in Lucifer’s drink; that instead, she was nervous, shaking, startled by too loud music, spilled his wine and the opportunity was gone. She dreams that he tells her that she makes him, _literally_ , vulnerable and she understands what Kinley almost tricked her into doing and so, she confronts the priest and tells him ‘No.’

She dreams Lucifer with another woman - safe, _alive_ , with someone _accepting_ , who _won’t_ harm him - and she wakes crying for what she has lost.

She dreams of shielding his bloodstained body with her own, from a bomb that doesn’t go off.

She dreams she helps him, when he loses control of his appearance, protecting him from the gaze of others.

She dreams of looking lovingly at him, even when his form is the Devil of nightmares and his wings are leathery and bat-like.

She dreams of dead people possessed by demons.

She dreams that Lucifer _forgives_ her for what she almost did, confesses his love and then leaves his penthouse on dazzlingly pure white, _feathered_ wings. Takes _himself_ to Hell, _nobly_ , to protect those he loves.

She wishes, with every fibre of her being, that it _had_ gone down that way - for him to have _chosen_ \- she would have missed him and there would have been pain but not as much as _this_ and not the thought of all that vibrant, masculine beauty, rotting away in the cold ground because of her…

The guilt is choking her.

She loved him so _much_ , how _could_ she have done what she did?

If only she could have a chance to live that time again, she would _never_ …

***

The day they finally execute her, the only official observer, that she _recognises_ , is Maze. Not - in any sense - a _friendly_ face but Chloe finds the sight of her - front row seat, clutching a bucket of popcorn - oddly comforting.

_______________________________________________

“Are we going in?” The young demon is excited, it’s his first day and he’s keen to learn.

“Not this one, no. Before we get started, I wanted to show you an example of how most of the humans use their _own_ guilt to bring them here and then help Hell to punish them.”

“She murdered the man and then regretted it?”

“No. She lived a blameless life and died peacefully of old age. She should be up _there_.” The older demon twitches his head in the direction of Heaven.

“She _didn’t_ murder the man?” The young demon’s eyes are round with surprise. “It looks so _real.”_

“All the aspects of her punishment are drawn from her own subconscious. She doesn’t know what effect the poison would have had, so she _imagines_ something; probably far worse than the reality. Hell takes the raw materials and creates.”

“So what do _we_ do?”

“The priest in her loop - we’re seeing _him_ , today, in his _own_ cell - _he_ tried to convince her to murder the man but she didn’t. She feels so much _guilt_ for it though; for how close she came and is content for Hell to punish her.”

“Why did the priest want her to murder?”

“That’s the really _funny_ part… he thought the man was The Devil!” He chuckles and the youngling joins in. As if this puny, murdered _human_ could ever be mistaken for their _King_. The King is _way_ taller, his skin too rough and red to be human and as for the magnificence of his leathery wings…

The youngling had only once seen his King, up close - when he had shed blood and pledged his loyalty - The Devil had been a terrifying sight.

There had been six of them, that day, he and his littermates, taking the oath. The King’s palace was built to intimidate; the entrance hall decorated, floor to high ceiling, with the impaled corpses of demons who had displeased their King. Most of them, legend had it, from an attempted uprising, centuries ago. Those ones had been desiccated from age, hardly recognisable, now. More disturbing had been the corpse that had only been dead a week, a youngling who had - somehow - messed up while taking his oath.

After walking through the room of _‘examples’_ , the pledges had stood, in the throne room, heads bowed, petrified that they too would be found wanting. They knew what to expect - young demons liked to talk - the King would prick your neck with one of his claws and stare into your eyes while you answered his questions. If he didn‘t like your answers, the claw would slash and your head and body would join the others, as a warning.

The King’s eyes had burned with Hell-fire but the tip of his claw had felt cold in the youngling’s neck. Every question had been answered truthfully.

“The King could _never_ be mistaken for a human.” The youngling says, confidently; proud of the scar that proves his loyalty to such a powerful, _ruthless_ being.

Through the viewing window of Chloe’s cell, her loop is starting again. The demons watch as she - hands shaking - pours the poison into the wine glass.

“Does _he_ ever come to the punishment cells? Does he like to torture the human souls?”

“They say he used to, millennia ago but he’s beyond such frivolity, these days. He’s more concerned with ruling _living_ demons, than playing with dead souls. He’s barely left the palace in centuries, he doesn’t even keep track of who’s down here.”

“So, we _don’t_ torture souls that are like _this_ one?”

“No. She’s doing a fine job, herself; she believes she deserves it, where’s the fun? We torture the ones who _don’t_ punish themselves, that believe they’ve done _nothing_ wrong.”

“Like the priest.”

“Yes. He’s particularly satisfying, ideal for _your_ first day, he’s amusing; he’s still waiting for his god to save him.”

They both laugh as they make their way to Kinley’s cell.


End file.
